


Turn Left

by the_deep_magic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, POV Alternating, Pre-Slash, The Fates - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no door to dramatically slam open, so Laura just stomps up to the three ancient women hunched over the tapestry and says, “Nope.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Left

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Teen Wolf Throwback Fest (prompt in the end notes). Yes, the title is shamelessly stolen from that Doctor Who episode, but it’s too perfect a coincidence to ignore. However, there aren’t any giant, time-eating beetles in this one (sorry to disappoint). All my thanks and baby carrots to zjofierose for the last-minute beta.

The night before Laura’s seventh grade class pictures, she argued with her mom about her hair. Talia said, “Sweetie, you look so pretty with your bangs pulled back.”

So Laura stole her dad’s clippers and shaved her head. Even she’ll admit that it looked terrible – patchy and lumpy, and idiots asked her for months what kind of cancer she had – but she’s smiling so proudly in that picture.

Point is, Laura’s never been one for following authority, and that doesn’t change when she dies.

There’s no door to dramatically slam open – there aren’t doors _at all_ here – so she just stomps up to the three ancient women hunched over the tapestry and says, “Nope.”

One of them looks up. “Excuse me, child?”

“I said ‘nope.’ As in, _that_ —” She points to a corner of the tapestry where it exits the loom, the threads mangled and twisted and all too short. “—is not happening.”

“We do not decide these things,” another woman says.

“Well then, who does? I want to talk to them.”

“It is known,” all three women say at once.

Laura stares at them. “The fuck does that mean? You, with the scissors, cut that part out, back up a few inches, and do it again.”

They look at her in horror. “W-what is woven cannot be unwoven,” says the one farthest to the right.

“Why the hell not?”

The woman in the middle straightens her back – well, as much as she can anyway – to stare Laura in the face. “The dead do not rise again, child. That is a perversion of nature.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Okay, so forget _me_. I’m not leaving my brother in that mess. Our whole family died years ago, and I just got murdered by my uncle, who’s now going after my brother. Change it.”

“Who are you, to demand that the fabric of time be woven at your will?” the same woman asks.

“I’m the only person my brother has left,” Laura says, clenching her hands into fists. “I’m not asking you to send me back. I’m _telling_ you that I can’t leave him alone like that.”

The women glance at one another, looking slightly unsure. The two on the outside look to the one in the middle, and after a few long moments, she sighs. “To murder one’s own kin is also a perversion of nature.”

“Fucking _thank you_.”

“You cannot shorten or lengthen a thread,” she says quickly. “And you cannot interrupt what has been woven – we only move forward, never back.”

“So, uh,” Laura says, trying to figure this whole thing out. Who really thought the Greeks and Romans would be right about this fate shit? “How do we fix this?”

The woman in the middle stares at the corner of the tapestry. “You may change one thread. Only one. What becomes of that change is not yours to control.”

“How do I know what to change? How do I know it will make things any better?”

The old woman shrugs. “Pick a strong thread.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re seriously doing this?” Scott asked, hopping out of the Jeep.

Stiles grabbed the flashlight and sighed. “You’re the one who’s always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.”

They ducked under the chain and into the preserve, Scott yammering on about first line and how _this_ was going to be the year. He just sounded so damned convinced that Stiles didn’t have the heart to disabuse him of the notion. Plus, it seemed Stiles hadn’t really thought this “half a body in the woods” expedition through, and he was mostly trying to concentrate on climbing up the ravine in front of him without falling on his face.

It turned out they kind of had to drop flat on the forest floor anyway. As soon as Stiles crested the ravine, he realized they were face-to-face with the entire Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department. He hit the deck before any of the deputies – or worse, his dad – could see him. Scott joined him on the ground to his left a moment later, and Stiles had to think fast. More than that, though, he had to _run_ fast.

“C’mon,” he said, popping up and hopping over the exposed root in front of him. He could hear Scott getting to his feet behind him.

It would’ve made sense for Stiles to bear right – the trees were thicker that way, and he wouldn’t be blocking Scott’s escape. But as he started to run, he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, a dark foreboding that he couldn’t place even if he’d had the time to. But the line of flashlights ahead of him was closing in, and he found himself zagging left instead.

As he dashed deeper into the woods, he heard Scott calling his name, followed by an audible _oomph_. Stiles ducked behind a tree, only feeling a little guilty that Scott had been caught instead of him; after all, now Scott could go home and get his beauty sleep before practice. He heard Scott try to cover for him – Scotty was _the best_ – but the search dogs were getting closer, and Stiles had to book it if he didn’t want to face his dad’s wrath and another “the police scanner is not your personal to-do list” lecture.

But before he could feel too proud of himself, Stiles found himself jumping out of the way of a deer. He didn’t even have time to process that before what seemed like every deer in the preserve thundered past him, knocking him around until he didn’t know which direction he’d been running in. Still dazed, he took a step in the direction he was facing, hoping it was the right one, and stopped cold. His flashlight beam had landed on the face of a young woman. Half of a young woman.

This was what Stiles came here to see, the reason he dragged Scott all the way out here. What would be cooler than a dead body? It wouldn’t be anything like a funeral, an overpainted husk of a person displayed like she was just sleeping, like she could get up at any moment and smile at being stuffed into her favorite yellow dress.

And it wasn’t. This woman didn’t look peaceful; she looked _terrified_.

The sight hit Stiles like a punch to the gut and he stumbled back… and felt the ground give way beneath his feet. The ravine seemed at least three times as long on the way down as it had felt on the way up, and Stiles could only be thankful that no one was there to witness him groaning in pain and spitting out leaves. As he made his way back to his feet, he slowly became aware of a presence behind him.

It was right out of a horror movie. He knew he shouldn’t look, that he should just keep running forward. He didn’t know if a guy with an axe or a chainsaw or whatever would really spare his life if Stiles didn’t get a good look at his face, but it didn’t matter. What he was looking at wasn’t human. He could barely tell if it was animal – nothing had glowing red eyes like that, and nothing that big lived around here.

“Oh shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Before he could remember what you were supposed to do around large predators – was it make yourself appear bigger or smaller? – the thing was lunging at him, its teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his side below his ribs. Then it started to drag him, and Stiles had visions of being ripped apart, half of his body being dragged to this thing’s lair, and his fight response finally came online. He kicked as hard as he could, shouting for help and praying the thing would let go instead of tearing a chunk out of his side, and by some miracle he got free.

There was so much adrenaline in his veins that he could barely feel the pain at all as he ran, stumbling, as fast as he could in the only direction that meant anything – away. The next thing he knew, a blinding light was coming at him. At first he thought it was the deputies, but when he tripped, his knees hit pavement and the car swerved away.

Stiles knelt there on the wet pavement, heart knocking at his ribs like it was trying to get out, and tried to make sense of the last 30 seconds. He began to doubt it was even real until he pulled up the hem of his shirt and hoodie, revealing a bite nearly the same size as the span of his hand. 

&&&

Derek had known when he stepped off the plane that Laura was already dead. Obviously it had happened some time the previous night after she’d begged him to take the first flight out to California. Looking back, he thought he should’ve felt something at the moment of her death, should have known that his alpha was gone, but other than slight turbulence, there was nothing.

The wolfsbane rope burned his fingers, but he coiled it carefully around her grave, letting her keep her wolf form in death. It seemed like an almost pathetic gesture, given the obvious violence of her death, but it was all Derek could think to do. There was no point in giving her a proper burial, since his family didn’t even have a marker at the cemetery. Better to bury her here, where the rest of them had burned.

Derek had thought that seeing the old house, smelling the charred wood and plaster, would overwhelm him. Instead, he felt… hollow. There was really nothing left of his family here, save for the shell of the man who used to be Peter in the hospital. Derek was alone.

When he stood up, stood back to survey his work, the burns on his fingers started healing. The wolfsbane would slow it down, but soon even that little reminder of his sister would be gone, too. He just stared dumbly at the dirt, as if it would tell him what to do next. As if it would give him some clue as to who had done this. Did this Alpha know what he or she had done, killing off the dregs of the Hale pack, or was it merely about the power? Could Laura’s death have been that senseless?

He didn’t know how long he stood there, but eventually he became aware that the whispering of the wind through the trees had turned into actual talking. Two male voices, too far away for Derek to hear exactly what they were saying, but close enough that they had to be on Hale property by now. And the sound was coming from the direction where he had found Laura’s body. He felt a cold anger rise up in his gut and latched on to it – finally, something familiar. Something to act on.

As he sped silently through the woods, the conversation became clearer. Something about sports practice, how it had gone surprisingly well – so high schoolers, probably. Maybe they’d heard the news about the body in the woods and come to check it out for themselves, idiot kids looking for a cheap thrill. Derek was so consumed with his rising rage that he almost missed it, but one of the boys said “lycanthropy.”

Derek stopped dead in his tracks.

“What’s that? Is it bad?” said the other boy.

“Oh yeah, it’s the worst, but only once a month,” said the first.

“Once a month?”

“Mm-hmm. On the night of the full moon. _Aroooooo_.”

“Quit kidding around, Stiles. There could be something seriously wrong with you.”

“Please, Scott. I’ve had teachers telling me that for years.”

From the sound of it, the boys were nearly at the edge of the ravine where Laura’s body had been. Derek was creeping closer, wanting to get a fix on them before he was spotted, when the wind changed direction.

_Werewolf_.

Not the smell of a recent kill or the dank, heavy odor of the Alpha. Someone new, freshly turned or even still turning.

“I could’ve sworn this was it,” the one called Stiles said. “I saw the body, the deer came running, I nearly dropped my flashlight.”

So they’d been here. The Alpha must have been waiting near the… near Laura. That spoke to specific intent – it could have been waiting for Derek to come and attacked this boy by mistake. Whether or not the Alpha had meant to turn him, Stiles already had the smell of the wolf on him. And that night was the full moon.

Derek stepped into their line of sight, hoping he looked menacing. After all, these two shitheads had come looking for his sister’s body, not once but twice now. One of the boys saw him, slapping the other to get his attention, and Derek started striding toward them.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, staring them down. “Huh? This is private property.”

“Uh, sorry, man,” said one of them, his voice and scent identifying him as Stiles. “We didn’t know.”

The other one – Scott – spoke up. “Hey, we were just looking for something but, uh, forget it.”

“You’re just going to eat that 80 bucks?” Stiles asked with disbelief, nudging Scott with his elbow.

Scott swallowed, his eyes never leaving Derek. “Uh, I dropped it closer to where your dad found me. Maybe one of the deputies picked it up.”

Derek glared at them, and both boys looked sufficiently cowed. Well, at least Scott did, and the two were obviously close friends. Practically inseparable, from the smell of it. Derek would have to get the other one alone somehow, explain that this “lycanthropy” thing was no joke.

Right now, however, he just wanted to get the hell away from them and away from the lingering smell of death. As he turned his back and left, he heard Stiles say, “Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember, right? He’s only, like, a few years older than us.”

Was it really only a few years ago that Derek had been like them, nothing more troublesome in his life than something dropped in the woods? It felt like decades.

Scott mumbled something, and Stiles replied, “His family? They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago.”

At that, Derek shifted and began to run. Whatever this little shit thought he knew, it was about to be turned upside down.

Unfortunately, he was also the closest thing Derek had to family anymore. 

&&&

Through the rush of the shower, Stiles heard Scott banging on the door – he apparently heard fucking _everything_ now – and calling his name. It was hard to even force himself to speak when there were claws pushing out from his cuticles instead of fingernails, and if the pain in his lower lip was any indication, there were fangs to match.

But Scott just kept pounding away on the door, making Stiles’ already-spinning head throb every time, and he finally had to yell, “Scott, go away!”

“What’s going on in there?” Scott called back.

Stiles almost laughed at the thought of having to describe this to Scott – it felt like his face was a Rubik’s cube in the hands of a toddler. Instead, he said, “I think I know who did this to me. Derek was at the party, and he was just… _looking_ at me.”

“Stiles, I’m gonna call your dad.”

_No_. The cold water had done little to clear his head or tame the rage he felt at Derek for biting him. He didn’t have the words to persuade Scott not to call his dad, but he knew he wouldn’t be safe around them. Whatever was happening to him physically, it seemed to come with a bloodlust like nothing he’d ever felt before. He could smell Scott out in the hall, the salt of his delicate skin, hear the beat of his heart and it took no effort at all to imagine cracking open Scott’s rib cage to get to that heart.

Still in his dripping clothes, Stiles threw himself out the open window of his bedroom, landing with surprising grace despite the two-story drop. He headed off in the direction of the preserve; there would be room to run there and no people to hurt. Later, he didn’t even remember the dash to the preserve. He only knew that when he got there, he was struck dumb by a painfully familiar scent, one that he’d recognize anywhere: Lydia’s perfume.

Whatever changes were overtaking his body suddenly snapped into place and he growled. Derek had taken Lydia, had lured her away from the party somehow, and Stiles was going to tear him in half for it. The scent trail was all too easy to follow, until it stopped dead… at her cardigan, the one she had worn to school two days ago, hanging from the low branch of a tree. Breathing hard, Stiles picked it up in one clawed hand – no blood, no rips. Like it had been placed there on purpose.

By Derek, who had appeared behind Stiles without making a sound. “Where is she?” Stiles roared.

“Safe from you,” Derek growled. “You didn’t take your eyes off her at that party once.”

Something about that, the fact that this leather-jacketed asshole he barely knew had been watching him, watching _Lydia_ , sparked a fire in Stiles’ chest and he threw himself at Derek. It was a clumsy move, but it caught Derek around the midsection and brought him down. They rolled, and when Stiles felt his back hit a tree, he realized Derek had been using Stiles’ own momentum against him.

He opened his mouth to spit curses at Derek, but Derek froze, looking up and sniffing the air. “Shh, quiet,” he said. Stiles couldn’t see or smell anything different, but he mimicked the way Derek went completely still as if by instinct.

“Too late, they’re already here,” Derek said, getting to his feet. “Run!”

Stiles stumbled after him but was brought up short by a painful flash of light right in front of his face. It burned his retinas and he couldn’t see a thing. He could definitely feel the shooting pain in his right arm where it had been pierced by… an arrow? Who the fuck shot arrows anymore?

Or quarrels, or whatever came out of a crossbow, because Stiles had regained enough vision to see that one the three human-like shapes in front of him was wielding a crossbow. Jesus, were there historical re-enactors out here in the middle of the night?

But the men kept advancing on him, and Stiles’ arm was pinned firmly to the tree. He panicked, feet scrabbling against the dead leaves on the ground. The man in the center was reloading his crossbow, and Stiles was a sitting target now.

Suddenly, there was a dark blur and the man on the left was knocked to the ground. Then the man on the right was flung hard against a tree. Stiles braced himself for the glowing red eyes sure to appear at any moment, but instead he was confronted by unearthly blue eyes only inches away from his face. Derek was snapping the arrow and yanking Stiles’ arm free, dragging him away.

Stiles didn’t think he heard footsteps behind him, but Derek kept sprinting through the woods, one hand still gripping Stiles wrist, until Stiles finally stumbled and fell to the ground.   He gasped, only then realizing that he didn’t need to; despite the running, he wasn’t out of breath. He looked at his hands – no claws either.   Derek had let go of his wrist, so Stiles figured they were out of immediate danger, but he still asked, “Who were they?”

“Hunters,” Derek said. “The kind who’ve been hunting us for centuries.”

“Us? Werewolves? Which I now _am_ , thanks to you!” Stiles yelled.

Derek smirked. “Is it really so bad, Stiles? That you can see better, hear more clearly, move faster than any human could ever hope? You’ve been given something that most people would kill for. The bite is a gift.”

Stiles stared at him. Derek was… okay, he was really fucking hot, but still. “Did you rehearse that little speech?”

Derek looked momentarily thrown, but he continued, “You’re gonna need me if you want to learn how to control it. So you and me, Stiles? We’re brothers now.”

And then he turned to walk away.

Stiles got to his feet. “What the fuck, Derek? You don’t just get to say that and walk away! The moon will still be out for hours – what am I supposed to do for the rest of the night?”

Derek shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“Seriously?” Stiles gaped. “You just said I needed you. Literally, those words _just_ came out of your mouth. If we need to get out of the woods, fine, but I am not going back to my house, to my _dad_ , all wolfed out. He already has high blood pressure.”

Derek peered at him oddly, like he hadn’t expected this.

So Stiles kept going. “I can’t believe you bit me, turned me into a werewolf, gave me a neat little ‘we’re brothers’ talk, then tried to walk away. What the shit is going on here?”

Derek sighed. “I didn’t bite you, Stiles.”

Despite the pull of the moon, Stiles found that the indignation was surprisingly easy to channel through his mouth. “There’s another werewolf running around here? In addition to the dudes with medieval fucking crossbows? Don’t you think that’s an important thing to share with the class? God, who is your speechwriter? You should fire him. Or her. Because I get the strong, silent guy-with-a-leather-jacket thing – and it works for you, it does – but if you’re going to go around half-assedly—”

“My house,” Derek finally cut in. “The hunters don’t know that I’m back yet. We should be safe there for a few hours.”

_The burned-out shell?_ Stiles wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut for once. He had a feeling Derek didn’t like to dole out too many answers at once – the drama queen – and Stiles was going to need all he could get. 

&&&

Derek slumped back against the floor, fragments of the shell casing still in his hand. He could feel the blackness slowly fading from his veins as his arm began to heal.

Somewhere above him, he heard, “That. Was. _Awesome_! Yes!”

Well, at least somebody was happy Derek wasn’t dead.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked as Derek got to his feet.

“Well, except for the agonizing pain,” Derek said, hoping he looked stronger than he felt.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.”

Derek glared at him, but there was relief in Stiles’ expression, in his scent.

“I think need to go to the Argents for help,” Scott said.

Derek and Stiles turned away from each other to stare at Scott.

“Remember how I told you Mr. Argent put an arrow in my arm?” Stiles said, waving around said arm. “And how Kate put that bullet in Derek?”

“That’s not the worst thing she did,” Derek muttered without really meaning to.

Scott held up his hands. “Just, if they know as much about this as you say, maybe they could help us catch the Alpha.”

“No,” Derek and Stiles said at the same time.

“You say one word to them,” Derek said, mustering as much intimidation as he could. “ _One word_ …”

“Look, Allison’s great, okay?” Stiles interjected, jumping between them, taking Scott by the arm, and steering him toward the door. “But you’re a little bit lovesick, Scotty boy. It’s okay, happens to the best of us – remember when I thought eating an entire box of cupcakes would impress Lydia? – but it’s clouding your judgment.”

Scott looked back at the exam room, gesturing uncertainly. “Shouldn’t I help… clean up or something? Deaton’s gonna kick my ass.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Stiles said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just give me the keys and I’ll lock up when we’re done. I can give them back to you tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Twenty-four cupcakes, Scott. Do you remember what color the icing was?”

“Purple,” Scott sighed.

“That’s right,” Stiles said brightly, patting Scott’s shoulder. “Because I puked it all over your shoes. Now go home and rest up.”

Derek closed his eyes and rested his head back against the cabinets. The burnt wolfsbane was still working its way through his veins, cleaning out the rest of the poison. Everything hurt. The last 48 hours were a blur – there were parts he barely remembered and others that seemed all too vivid. Like Stiles, with the saw pressed to Derek’s arm, looking sick to his core but determined. Derek couldn’t say why, but he believed Stiles would have actually done it. And he had no idea what to make of that.

He heard the door shut and footsteps as Stiles came back into the room, stopping, by the sound of it, about three feet in front of Derek. Derek opened his eyes to fix Stiles with a narrowed gaze, trying to tell him without speaking that he had terrible taste in friends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles sighed. “You’re gonna rip his throat out with your teeth, I know.”

“No, I’m reserving that one for you,” Derek grunted, trying to stand up straight. It was getting easier.

Stiles looked him up and down with an assessing eye. For a second, he looked like he was going to say something serious, but what came out of his mouth was, “So did you have to take your shirt off or was that just for funsies?”

Derek genuinely didn’t think he could glare any harder.

“Look, I was milliseconds away from _sawing your arm off_ ,” Stiles said. “I realize that was gonna hurt you a lot more than it was gonna hurt me, but there’s such a thing as secondary trauma. And we’ve established that you also process crises with sarcasm, so just roll with me here.”

Derek groaned – there was probably a flaw in that logic, but he was too mentally exhausted to care. Physically, he was feeling almost normal again, and he didn’t like the concern he saw on Stiles’ face. It wasn’t like Stiles actually gave a shit about him, not really. Derek went hunting for his discarded shirt.

“Hey, next time can we do that with a little less manhandling?” Stiles asked, hopping up on the exam table.

“Hey, next time can we not do that _at all_?” Derek snapped.

“All right, I’m going to give you that one, because you almost died,” Stiles said magnanimously. “And because I’m willing to concede that you have a point. So, hey, what did Kate do that was worse than shooting you?”

Derek was so caught off guard by the fact that Stiles had heard him that he didn’t even comment on the lack of even the pretense of a delicate transition. He pulled his shirt back over his head, thinking of Peter sitting almost lifeless in the hospital.

“I’ll show you,” Derek said quietly. 

&&&

Stiles still couldn’t believe that Scott’s mom had anything to do with sending that text to Allison, but Danny seemed certain about the text having come from the hospital’s computer. Stiles wasn’t very good at picking up lies by heartbeat yet, but Danny had no reason not to tell him the truth.

Besides, something very strange was going on at the hospital. “Yeah, I said I can’t find her,” Stiles insisted.

He could practically hear Derek’s eye roll over the phone. “Look, ask for Jennifer. She’s been looking after my uncle.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not here, either.”

“What?”

“He’s not here,” Stiles said, the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach becoming a physical weight. “He’s gone, Derek.”

The sickly familiar smell hit his nose just as Derek started yelling at him to get out of there.

Stiles turned to see Peter, burned but decidedly neither wheelchair-bound nor comatose. “I didn’t even have to call you here,” Peter said, grinning. “You came right to me.”

“What the fuck” was all Stiles could manage before Derek came racing into the corridor.

“Both my betas,” Peter said, slinking forward. “My new pack, all together for the first time.”

Derek pushed past Stiles, his claws starting to come out – Stiles knew the feeling. “You killed Laura, you sick son of a bitch,” Derek growled.

“You think I killed her on purpose?” Peter scoffed. “One of my own family? My mind, my personality were literally burned out of me. I was being driven by pure instinct.”  
  
“You want forgiveness?” Derek asked, and Stiles stepped up beside him. Stiles felt like he should’ve been ready for this, but he wasn’t. Despite what Derek had taught him, despite their frantic search for the Alpha, Stiles was completely unprepared to actually face him. He just knew he had Derek’s back on this one and had to hope that the reverse was also true.

But this Peter, as malicious as he obviously was, bore no resemblance to the huge, misshapen monster that had attacked Stiles before. “I want understanding,” Peter said. “Do you have any idea, what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell. Even more slowly coming back to consciousness. Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can't help that. I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.”

“So what’s with the villain monologue?” Stiles asked, adrenaline tunneling his vision and making his breath shallow. “You tired of trying to kill us?”

Peter scoffed, “This isn’t the big, climactic showdown at the end of the movie, Stiles. I haven’t killed you, either of you, because I need you.”

So that was Peter’s strategy now – trying to convince them he was in the right. Stiles glanced over at Derek, and it was just as he’d feared – no claws or fangs. Peter was winning him over. “Derek, don’t listen to him.”

But Peter ignored him, focusing only on Derek. “You have to give me a chance to explain,” he said, face fashioned into something like a pleading look. “After all, we’re family.”

“ _Family_?” Stiles yelled, trying to break this spell Peter was weaving over Derek. The tentative trust Stiles had managed to forge with Derek seemed practically delicate in comparison. “You killed half of the family you had left!”

Finally, Peter turned his gaze to Stiles, and it was ice-cold. “Why would I do that? That’s insane.”

The questions, Stiles realized. He was framing them as questions, not statements, so Derek wouldn’t hear him lie. But before Stiles could say anything, Derek asked, “Why all the others? Were those ‘instinct,’ too?” He was trying to make it sound sarcastic, Stiles could tell, but he didn’t quite manage it.

“Oh no, Derek,” Peter said, his eyes flashing red, and Stiles understood where Derek had gotten his penchant for drama. “They’re the ones responsible, the ones who helped set the fire. That’s all I’ve been doing, ever since I started to heal. That’s all I want – justice for our family. Vengeance for what was done to us.”

“What?” Stiles cried. “How do a bus driver, a minimum-wage video store clerk, a—”

“Fraud, arson,” Peter spat. “The Argents may have been behind the fire, but these were the scum who helped them get away with it.” He looked back at Derek, his eyes widening madly. “But they’ve paid for what they’ve done. Now it’s time to take down those who hunt us.”

“Derek, you can’t be taking any of this seriously!” Stiles said, but when Derek turned to look at him, Stiles’ heart sank. He’d never even imagined having to face all of this alone.

“He’s all I’ve got left, Stiles,” Derek said, almost apologetically. “And he’s right – we have to stop the Argents.”

“Not—Not his way!”

“Stiles, it’s only a matter of time before they come for you,” Peter said. “Before they come for your father.”

The words sent a bolt of fear through his chest, but Stiles shook it off. “They’re not going to kill the sheriff, for god’s sake! Derek, think about this! We’ve been trying to stop him ever since he _killed_ your _sister_.”

Derek looked lost, well and truly lost, glancing back and forth between Peter and Stiles. “This isn’t your fight, Stiles,” he said after a moment. “I won’t ask you to get involved if you don’t want to, but I won’t let you get in the way, either.”

“You need to think about it, Stiles,” Peter said, the side of his mouth curling up into a grin. “Which side are you on?”

“There are options other than cold-blooded murder…” Stiles began, but seeing Derek’s face as he was looking at Peter let him know it was already a lost cause. It shocked Stiles to think he’d never seen it before: pure grief. Stiles had assumed Derek had mourned Laura – hell, mourned the loss of his whole family – in private, but when would he have had the time? He had to be nearly mad with it by now.

The hell of it was, Stiles knew there was no arguing with that kind of grief. And so all he could do was watch, gaping, as Derek and Peter walked out the front door together. 

&&&

“Look, just leave Stiles out of this,” Derek said, trying to sound commanding. It came off closer to pleading.

“I turned him for a reason, Derek,” Peter said, scraping with one claw at what used to be the kitchen wallpaper, slowly etching a spiral into the wall. “I would have turned others if he hadn’t ended up being so… troublesome. But a pack of three is still better than two.”

“Stiles isn’t worth the trouble,” Derek said, shaking his head. “He’s an annoying, whiny kid. He starts running his mouth and I’m tempted to kill him myself.”

Peter turned suddenly, fixing Derek with a curious stare. “Liar. Your heart just then – you want him in the pack as badly as I do.”

“He’s too stubborn,” Derek said. He knew that wasn’t a lie. “He’d say no just to be contrary.”

“He just needs the right motivation. I could threaten him all day and he won’t budge. That’s a lesson I should’ve learned earlier. But the people around him? His father, Scott, Scott’s mother, even Lydia…”

“Lydia?” Derek remembered Stiles mentioning the name, but he couldn’t place her.

“The feisty redhead. Oh, I’d love to have her, but she’d turn around and kill me the second the bite took effect. Her boyfriend, on the other hand – the one you so gracefully clawed—”

Derek’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “You’re thinking about turning Jackson?”

Peter laughed. “Turning? Oh, no. But he knows entirely too much, thanks to you. You need to put him out of his misery.”

That took Derek completely by surprise. “You want me to kill him?”

“It’s either kill him or give him the bite,” Peter said lightly, as if he were talking about what to have for lunch. “And frankly I’d rather bend over for Chris Argent than have that sniveling little shit in my pack, and I hear there’s a terribly vicious mountain lion in the area. Besides, we’d be doing Stiles a favor.”

“What?”

Peter’s grin turned feral. “I can’t believe you don’t know. He’s madly in love with Lydia. He’ll thank you for eliminating the competition.”

“Stiles isn’t going to thank me for killing anyone,” Derek insisted.

“Regardless, you have to do something about Jackson. He knows about us and the Argents, and if he can’t have our power, he’ll go straight to them.”

Unfortunately, Peter had a point. Jackson knew just enough to pose a real danger, and he was enough of an asshole to use that to his advantage. Still, Derek didn’t intend to kill him – not yet, anyway. Jackson was, at heart, a coward, and if Derek could scare him badly, that might do the trick. “What am I supposed to do, hunt him down at school?”

Peter laughed again, quietly, a patronizing sound that made Derek feel all of 15 again, a dumb kid trying to impress his cool young uncle. “You still know so little about human nature, nephew. Stay right here. I guarantee he’ll come to you.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I still have a killer to track down,” Peter said, his eyes narrowing. “I need to know which Argent gave the order. Don’t worry, we’re going to kill them all, but I have to find out which one needs to suffer the most.”

He spun on his heels and walked out the door, and Derek hoped that Peter’s preoccupation with making a dramatic exit would keep him from hearing Derek’s quick intake of breath, the sudden surge of guilt that tainted the air around him. If Peter ever found out what he’d done… 

&&&

_Heart rate down. Heart rate down. Heart rate down._

If Stiles couldn’t keep his claws in, there was no way he’d be able to keep typing. “No, I don’t know why Scott tried to protect Jackson, but he got fucking shot at for his efforts _and_ he lost a $200 phone, so go easy on him,” Stiles said. It was easier to keep control when he was talking. Talking and typing and not thinking about Lydia lying bloody on the field, or Derek… god knows where. No one had seen him since Kate attacked him, Scott, and Jackson at the Hale house.

As far as Stiles knew, none of the Argents had figured out that Peter was the Alpha. Stiles would actually consider going and telling them if Peter weren’t hovering over him right now. It’s not like Peter _needed_ to convince Stiles to find Derek, not if half of what Stiles had heard about the Argents’ methods was true. Deep in the pit of his stomach, Stiles knew that Derek wouldn’t give up his uncle, no matter how they tortured him. “What happens after we find Derek?” Stiles asked, his eyes still trained on the screen.

“Don’t think, Stiles,” Peter snapped. “Type.”

“You’re gonna kill people, aren’t you?”

“Only the responsible ones,” Peter said, and Stiles could hear the sneer in his voice.

“Look, if I do this, you have to promise to leave Derek out of it,” Stiles tried. “He’s not like you. He’s not a killer.”

Peter just laughed. “Do you know why wolves hunt in packs? It's because their favorite prey are too large to be brought down by one wolf alone. I need Derek and I need you.”

“Sucks to be you,” Stiles muttered.

Peter was peering over his shoulder as Stiles finally pulled up the log-in page for Scott’s phone. “His username is Allison?” Stiles didn’t reply, just typed in the only thing that could possibly be Scott’s password. “His password is also Allison?”

Before Stiles could form a witty retort, the computer brought up a map showing the location of Scott’s phone. “Wait, what the— That's where they're keeping him? At his own house?

Peter got a faraway look in his eyes. “Not at it. Under it. I know exactly where that is. And I'm not the only one. Give me your keys.”

“Fuck no,” Stiles said. “I wouldn’t let you in the Jeep even if you _weren’t_ capable of cutting me in half.”

Peter shot him a red-eyed glare, but in the end, he got into the passenger seat and, surprisingly, remained silent until they had peeled out of the hospital parking garage and were speeding down the highway toward the preserve.

“I’m not the monster you think I am,” Peter said quietly.

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Stiles said, gripping the wheel tightly as he felt his claws start to slide out. “Derek’s life wasn’t fucked up enough, you had to kill his sister and then manipulate him into helping you because you’re the only Hale left? That’s, like, Greek tragedy levels of twisted. I _really_ don’t want to hear about your relationship with your mother.”

Peter chuckled. “I like you, Stiles, but you haven’t thought this through. How’s your ADHD been since I gave you the bite?”

The sudden change in topic threw Stiles off. “How do you even know about that?”

“I had my nurse do a little background research on my new beta. And on his best friend, too. I could’ve just as easily bitten Scott that night in the woods. Did you know his type of asthma has an unusually high mortality rate? A lost inhaler, a tough lacrosse practice, and that could be it.”

“Shut up,” Stiles muttered.

“I’m just saying, you could merge your pack with mine. No more worrying about Scott’s asthma, no more worrying about your dad’s heart. And if Lydia turns, well. I’m sure you can imagine the benefits of having her around.”

“Isn’t what you’ve done to Derek bad enough?” Stiles gritted out through descending fangs.

“Interesting,” Peter mused. “I mention Lydia and you change the subject to Derek.”

“How is that interesting?”

“You two have gotten quite close over the past few weeks.”

Stiles could feel his face growing hot and knew there was no way to hide it from Peter. “We’ve been trying to stop _you_ from killing anyone else.”

“Not hard enough,” Peter scoffed. “I wonder if the two of you weren’t… otherwise distracted.”

“Seriously, that’s where your mind went? How do you know I’m even attracted to men?”

“How do I know you’re not?” Peter asked and, well… fair point. Stiles himself hadn’t known until recently, and the revelation _had_ overlapped with spending a lot of time around Derek. Training with Derek, running through the woods with Derek, bickering with D— _shit_. Stiles was so fucked.

Contrary to popular opinion, he did know when to keep his mouth shut. It didn’t do anything about Peter’s grin, though. 

&&&

As Derek swatted his torturer out of the way with his newly-freed hand, he had to wonder where Kate managed to find these goons. They were straight out a bad gangster movie. “Where’s Peter?” Derek asked as Stiles stepped out of the shadows.

“I don’t know. He took off as soon as we got here, told me to come down here and get you.”

“So get me down,” Derek snapped, tugging against his remaining manacle.

“You have to stop listening to Peter,” Stiles pleaded. “He’s going to kill Allison’s entire family and get us killed in the process.”

Derek stared at the floor, digging his claws into his palm. “At least Kate will be dead.”

“And then what?” Stiles asked, coming closer to Derek. “There are other hunters, right? You think they’re just going to let all this slide? This is going to start a war, Derek. Best case scenario, you’re on the run for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care,” Derek said, trying to keep his anger focused. “I don’t have a home anymore.”

“Peter’s been lying—”

“Stiles, don’t make me choose between you and Peter.” Derek glared at Stiles, doing his best to ignore the anguish on Stiles’ face. “He’s—”

“Family, I know. And I get that. I would try to break my dad out of Death Row if I had to. But your sister was family, too. Why did she come back here in the first place? You never told me.”

“Stiles, we don’t have time for this,” Derek said, tugging against the chain. “Kate could be back at any moment.”

“Not with Peter up there,” said Stiles, setting his jaw. His feet were planted and he wasn’t coming any closer. “You have to make me understand why it’s okay that Peter killed Laura. It’s pretty damned convenient that she came back here just as he was getting better.”

“She came back because somebody was trying to send us a message. There was a deer that was killed and mutilated—” Derek remembered the picture vividly, the spiral carved in its flesh.

The same spiral Peter had carved on the wall upstairs.

“Oh god, it was Peter,” Derek said.

Stiles, to his credit, didn’t gloat. He made as if to help Derek with the manacle, but with a sudden surge of rage, Derek managed to snap it off its chain on his own. “You have a plan?” Derek asked.

“It starts with us getting out of here,” Stiles said, his expression flooded with relief.

They went out through the back tunnel, Derek bending the bars of the grate so they could slither out into the woods. Stiles started to run but Derek stumbled, still weak from the electricity he’d been subjected to for hours.

“Stiles, wait!” he started to say, just as an arrow struck him in the chest.

“Allison?” he heard Stiles cry.

“Now the leg.” Kate. So she had already started training the youngest Argent. Pretty well, if the second arrow that struck him in the thigh was any indication.

Derek focused and saw the girl nock a flashbang arrow. He tried to warn Stiles to close his eyes, but was unsuccessful by the sound of it. He heard two sets of footfalls coming closer, then: “Stiles? You’re the second beta?”

“Allison, what are you doing with her? She’s insane.”

“She’s protecting us.”

“From what?” Derek heard Stiles say with exasperation. “The Alpha? How’s that going?”

“It’ll be going a lot better once we weaken his pack,” Kate said. “Shoot him, Allison. The throat is quickest, but if you ask me, the heart is more fun.”

Allison lowered her bow. “You said we were just going to catch them.”

“We did that. Now we’re going to kill them.”

“See?” Stiles said. “Insane.”

Without another word, Kate raised a gun and shot Stiles. Allison screamed, and Derek let the fresh surge of anger propel him to tear the arrows out of his flesh. In the moment of confusion, he should have run; it would’ve at least given him a chance. Instead, he found himself drawn to his injured packmate, an instinct that surprised the hell out of him in its intensity. He covered Stiles’ body with his own, and in the half-second it had taken him, he realized he’d given up the opportunity to attack Kate. She now had her gun trained on Derek and was squeezing the trigger—

“Kate! I know what you did. Put the gun down.” Chris Argent. Derek never thought he’d be thankful to hear that voice.

“I did what I was told to do,” she said.  
  
“No one asked you to murder innocent people. There were children in that house, ones who were human. Look what you're doing now.”

“She shot Stiles,” Allison said. “She killed Scott’s best friend.”

“I’m not dead yet” came a voice from underneath Derek.

He scrambled back, gaping as Stiles sat up, his shirt stained with red but his skin unbroken. He was _grinning_. “Must’ve left your wolfsbane bullets in your other gun.”

“You son of a—” Kate started, but was cut off by a deep, resounding growl coming from the direction of the house.

“Peter,” Stiles whispered.

One moment, a pair of red eyes was emerging from the darkness and the next, one of Chris’ lackeys had gone down. Everyone turned in his direction, and then the other lackey collapsed.

“Peter, stop!” Stiles yelled. “My dad has enough evidence to put Kate away for the fire.”

Derek knew it wouldn’t do any good, and, if pressed, Derek wasn’t sure he wanted Peter to stop. Peter would kill Kate, taking revenge for his family, and Chris would know it was justified. They could take care of Peter later. But Stiles was already on his feet, lunging after the dark blur that was Peter’s Alpha form, and Derek couldn’t let him go alone.

Stiles fought with a ferocity Derek had never seen before. He wasn’t skillful – he fought too aggressively, left himself too open to attacks – but he was unpredictable enough that, along with Derek’s greater strength, they were able to hold Peter off, keep him away from the Argents. But the cost was becoming too great; injured by their Alpha, Derek and Stiles were slow to heal, and Stiles couldn’t maintain his level of aggression for long.

Peter threw him hard into a tree and there was a sickening crack. But Peter was after Derek so fast that Derel had no time to even turn and look. All he knew was that he had to hang on to Peter to keep him from going after Stiles. Derek took a hard blow to the ribs, but used it to take Peter down to the ground with him. But Peter showed no signs of weakening, rolling Derek over and raising his arm for the killing strike.

Time seemed to freeze, those crazed red eyes staring out of a face that was neither fully human nor fully wolf, but something truly monstrous in between. Derek realized in that moment that he was ready to die, ready to take his penance for his role in his family’s death, for blindly following the man who had killed his sister. His only regret was leaving Stiles. Even if the Argents managed to kill Peter, Stiles would be an omega, forever in danger from hunters and packs alike. But Stiles had a pack in his own way, Stiles—

–was screaming Allison’s name, and Peter howled above him as an arrow pierced his hand.

The howl was followed by several shots – wolfsbane in the bullets this time, Derek could smell it – and time sped up again. He flipped Peter over with enough ease that he had time to look up and see Kate in handcuffs, held fast by Stiles as Allison and Chris held their weapons ready.

Derek looked down at Peter, whose face was human again but whose eyes were still glowing red. He already smelled like a dying animal, but his mouth was twisted up into a grin, silently mocking Derek even now. “This is for Laura,” Derek said, and swiped his claws across Peter’s throat so hard that it nearly severed his head.

He fell back but was unable to take his eyes off Peter, unable to be sure he was really dead until he felt the power surge into him. Derek instinctively tried to reject it – this wasn’t who he was, wasn’t what he was born to be. But he’d taken the power, and now he had to wield it, for better or worse. He nearly vomited.

Derek started at the feeling of someone putting a hand on his shoulder, but it was Stiles, kneeling in the dirt and looking at Derek with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Is it over?”

Derek nodded, feeling his own eyes turn red for the first time. “Yeah, I… I’m the alpha now.” 

&&&

Stiles wasn’t even mad that Allison beat him out for salutatorian by four-hundredths of a GPA point. No, really, he wasn’t. Everyone knew Lydia was going to get valedictorian anyway, and the past three years had, if nothing else, given Stiles a good sense of perspective. Plus, he’d accomplished so much more than grades.

Against strident protests from Finstock, graduation was held on the lacrosse field. Lydia had given her speech already – the most glowing “fuck you, high school” anyone had ever gotten away with, Stiles was certain – and the principal was already on the B names. Much to their great dismay, Stiles and Scott hadn’t gotten to sit together, but Erica was just one row in front of Stiles, and he leaned forward and jabbed her on the shoulder. “Hey, Reyes, be sure you don’t trip up there.”

She didn’t respond until after they’d called Boyd’s name. Then she turned around and grabbed him by the front of his ridiculously expensive rented gown. She hauled him close enough that only he could see her eyes glow amber and said, “Watch it, Stilinski. I can still kick your ass even with these heels on.”

“Point,” Stiles said with a grin, and she let him go, rolling her eyes before turning back around.

The ceremony was over quickly, and between Stiles’ dad and Scott’s mom, they took approximately 7,000 pictures together and then gathered the pack. Luckily it was a sunny day, so no one questioned why Stiles, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were wearing sunglasses in every photo.

After the group broke up to spend time with their respective families, Stiles gave his dad a quick hug and then walked toward the treeline where he’d seen the dark-clad figure standing for most of the ceremony. The zipper got stuck on his robe, so he tugged the damned thing over his head and tucked it under his arm. “I offered to get you a ticket,” Stiles called out as he neared the woods.

Derek suddenly appeared from behind a tree, and it was only many years of practice that kept Stiles from being startled, or at least from showing it. He never could quite get the creeper thing down like Derek.

As if reading his mind, Derek said, “I thought it would be more fitting to watch from here.”

“Yeah, if you’d shown up at the actual entrance in a suit and tie, I think I would’ve had a stroke,” Stiles said, knowing Derek could hear how fast his heart was beating.

Then Derek leaned back against a tree and smiled, and Stiles’ heart nearly stopped. Derek’s smiles weren’t as rare as they used to be, but they weren’t an everyday occurrence either, especially big, broad grins where Stiles could actually see teeth. It firmed up his resolve, though, and he set his gown down neatly on the grass and took a step toward Derek.

“Doing all right there?” Derek asked, smirking a little now. “I thought you were supposed to be nervous _before_ graduation.”

“Well, they didn’t actually give me my diploma, just a rolled-up piece of paper. I pick up my real one in a week, and I’m worried they’ll find out about that library book I never returned in the third grade.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek said slowly as he watched Stiles move closer. The whole pack was more or less in each other’s space constantly, but this wasn’t a pack thing, and Stiles was pretty sure Derek knew it.

He set his hands on Derek’s hips, testing the waters, but Derek didn’t move away. Stiles could’ve whooped with joy when he heard Derek’s heart speed up, too, smelled the hopeful curiosity in the air. He still leaned in slowly, giving Derek an out if he wanted it, but Derek met him halfway.

Stiles was so excited that he almost forgot to actually kiss Derek instead of just standing there with their mouths smushed together, but luckily his instincts kicked in before it got too awkward. He kept it light, wanting to memorize the feeling of Derek’s lips against his – warm, a little dry, surprisingly soft. The barest scratch of stubble when Derek tilted his head a little. The fizzy, terrifying thrill of fulfilling a long-standing fantasy.

They parted far too soon for Stiles’ liking, but Derek set a hand on his cheek and didn’t let him get far. The corner of Derek’s mouth quirked up. “So, what was that?”

“My graduation gift to myself,” Stiles said, his voice not squeaking at all. “Also, more or less three years of working up the nerve to actually do that.”

Stiles knew this wasn’t exactly news to Derek, but he still had no idea what was going to come next. He should’ve known Derek would tease him. “More or less?”

“I dunno, it was pretty touch and go that first six months, plus there was that three-week period junior year where you got the werewolf measles, and I’m sorry, not even you could make that attrac—”

Derek silenced him with his lips over Stiles’, and Stiles had never been so happy to be shushed in his life. He could feel the tension ease from Derek’s shoulders as Stiles gently licked at the seam of Derek’s lips, getting a teasing touch of tongue in return. At that, Stiles couldn’t hold back and moaned with bliss when Derek’s hand slid to the back of his neck, tilting Stiles’ head so Derek could kiss him deeper. He dug his fingers into Derek’s shirt and just held on.

By the time he pulled back, his lips were tingling and he was only gasping a little. Okay, maybe more than a little, but Derek seemed to be in the same state. More than that, he buried his face against Stiles’ neck until Stiles was in danger of howling with joy.

“So, um,” he tried. “I know you said you wouldn’t date a high school kid, but would you consider a college guy?”

Derek pulled back to look at Stiles, eyes serious but warm. “Things are going to change once you get to college, Stiles. Are you sure you want to start something now?”

“Actually, I wanted to start this a long time ago. For the record, I have never wanted to start something so badly in my life, and I’m including the summer camp with the horses in that.” Stiles stopped and took a deep breath. “And if it’s meant to be, we’ll work it out.”

Derek’s smile returned. “I think I can live with that.”

 

* * *

 

The last time Laura cut her hair was the day after the fire. It was nearly down to her elbows and she cut it to just beneath her chin. Her anthro class had just been studying mourning rituals, and she hoped that a symbolic gesture would relieve at least a fraction of the crushing guilt and sorrow.

She’d been wrong. She hadn’t cut her hair again until the day Peter killed her.

This, though.

As she watches the women weave the tapestry back together, this takes the weight of the world off her shoulders. What was frayed and broken is now solid, some threads weaving in for only a short time, others until their lengths run out, out but all anchored by two strong threads that intertwine from beginning to end.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Fate intervenes (you choose how/why) and Stiles is bitten instead of Scott. Bonus points if it's *actual* intervention by Fate (or a deity or the universe or whatever).
> 
> So, yeah, Fate... but also Laura.


End file.
